18. The Wilderness

1864 APRIL 18–MAY

18

Mother's funeral was bleak. Dense fog rolled off the Susquehanna River, covering our world. The parlor was decorated with black crepe, lilies of the valley, and ferns. The coffin lay on a long, rectangular table for the wake. Mother was dressed in a gown of white lace, her golden hair brushed to her waist, her cheeks and lips smeared with rouge to hide death's bloodless color. A bouquet of lilies lay on her breast, tied with white, satin ribbons. She looked as beautiful as I remembered, as though she were sleeping, her face peaceful. I stood by the door and barely noticed the sympathetic touches as people passed Pa, Elizabeth, and me.

Grandmother Montgomery cried broken, horrid sobs while her old valet butler, George, patted her shoulder. Whenever she paused in her wails, she would shoot scalding glares at us and harrumph before proceeding her cries. Aunt Agatha sat beside her mother, staring into her lap, embarrassed by her dramatic antics.

The funeral procession parted the thick fog to the graveyard. I stood in a daze, barely noticing the hymns led by the homely reverend, while Mother was lowered into the ground beside my brother.

When the last goodbyes were whispered, Grandmother Montgomery trudged toward us, her valet and Aunt Agatha on her heels.

"Stop, Mother," Aunt Agatha called after her.

"Christopher Coburg, you should be ashamed!" She shrugged off her daughter. "Look at the mess you created! Your house in disarray, the stress you caused my daughter killed her, and you are letting her daughters run rampant. My granddaughters deserve better than this. I suggest you find a husband of good standing for this flair of yours." She pointed at me. "And hand Elizabeth over to me. I'm returning to France in a couple of weeks, and I will raise Elizabeth. She will be more respectable and less high-strung than your eldest girl. Or if you prefer, I will take her as well, and I can find a suitable husband for her. It seems you are incapable of doing so thus far."

I pulled Elizabeth to my side, protecting her from the onslaught.

Aunt Agatha gripped her mother's arm, but Grandmother Montgomery shook her off, heedless of her daughter's pained look.

"You'll not take my daughters away from me, Mrs. Montgomery. I suggest you stay clear of my family, and you close those tight lips of yours."

Pa turned, leading us away.

"How dare you! I'm not finished! If I hear one mishap concerning my granddaughters or your negligence, I'm coming to take both of them home with me!"

"Mother!" Aunt Agatha reached again for her mother's arm.

"Don't touch me!" Grandmother blurted.

Pa and I walked on, not sparing a glance back. Elizabeth looked over her shoulder as I pulled her with us.

"May I go to Paris?" she asked.

"No," Pa said in a tired, but firm voice.

A battle broke out in Virginia's wilderness. It was bushwhacking on a grand scale, where all formation and order was lost. Battle lines did not exist in the forest. The newspapers detailed the confusion and chaos. Men fought hand to hand, firing at anyone who posed a threat, burying each other in the brush and trees. No one could tell a foe from a friend.

I begged the Lord would spare John.

By May 6th, news reported our troops scraped by with a shallow victory. Wounded filled hospitals, and scouts searched surrounding areas in hope of finding missing men, many of whom were lost among the tumult. So many were left unrecognizable or taken prisoner.

Days later, we heard Grant was marching toward Spotsylvania, the town where Ethan Harris was last seen. There, Grant attacked Lee's Army. Rumors floated back that our army was suffering desperately to keep its ground, the losses mounting. In the darkness, a mob resembling the one in the wilderness fought a hand-to-hand skirmish. The fighting persisted throughout May. Casualties continued to mount on both sides.

To Miss Ella Coburg,

John reported missing. Brett Chisholm wounded. Mr. Chisholm gone to fetch him. Able bodies called to nurse. Wounded arrive in trainloads each day. Please come if possible.

Nora Mathis

Pa's eyes were sad and tired while I read the telegraph. "You love him, don't you, daughter?" He did not wait for my reply. "It's best you leave anyway. We lost track of Ethan's whereabouts days ago. The wilderness was chaos. Go back to St. Albans, then when John does return, he has you to come home to."

He squeezed my shoulder in sympathy.

"Come to my office. There are things I must tell you before you go."